Fucking wow!
It's been more than a year, lj. A year! So much can happen in a year; so much has happened in a year. Friends are no longer friends, companions made unimaginably stupid life decisions, I don't have a job, I party hard, I have hot neighbors... I am unsure and yet at the same time completely sure of myself, how I feel, what I do, where I stand.
I'm certain that anyone who used to read this has forgetten it and so I think I am safe to start writing again. Isn't that strange? I think many lj writers depend upon the anonymity of their journals; I think that lj is at once a ploy to get attention and a hope of invisibility. Honestly, I don't like for those I know and am close to to read my journal (though I have to say that in some cases it can establish a close relationship). But if I consider this private, then who am I writing for? Why do I take such care in constructing sentences, in creating interesting topics? Why don't I just blandly record the minutae of my life like an inventory list?
I don't know. But I will do what I do.
As I said before, a lot changes in a year. Yet, I find that as things change, as I change, much remains untouched.
I should be writing an essay on the ideal versus the reality of something. Most of my classmates chose to write about school or travel - basically any generic topic they can think of in order to get a good grade. What have I chosen? The ideal beauty versus the reality of beauty. I just haven't figured out exactly how I'm going to present that in five pages without sounding militant (especially because, though I consider myself feminist, I don't necessarily consider wearing makeup and maintaining other "evil beauty standards" actually bad.)
Sigh
I'm certain that anyone who used to read this has forgetten it and so I think I am safe to start writing again. Isn't that strange? I think many lj writers depend upon the anonymity of their journals; I think that lj is at once a ploy to get attention and a hope of invisibility. Honestly, I don't like for those I know and am close to to read my journal (though I have to say that in some cases it can establish a close relationship). But if I consider this private, then who am I writing for? Why do I take such care in constructing sentences, in creating interesting topics? Why don't I just blandly record the minutae of my life like an inventory list?
I don't know. But I will do what I do.
As I said before, a lot changes in a year. Yet, I find that as things change, as I change, much remains untouched.
I should be writing an essay on the ideal versus the reality of something. Most of my classmates chose to write about school or travel - basically any generic topic they can think of in order to get a good grade. What have I chosen? The ideal beauty versus the reality of beauty. I just haven't figured out exactly how I'm going to present that in five pages without sounding militant (especially because, though I consider myself feminist, I don't necessarily consider wearing makeup and maintaining other "evil beauty standards" actually bad.)
Sigh